


Trenches & Bookshops

by brandonsaad (createadisaster)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - World War I, Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/createadisaster/pseuds/brandonsaad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two jaded young men struggle for meaning after they return from the trenches. One day, they find it in each other, but life doesn't stop getting in their way. Twenties AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trenches & Bookshops

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 Winter Wolfstar Wank for the prompt 1900-1950s. Subtle inspiration from Fitzgerald & Co. This fic is about Remus and Sirius, but both of them are romantically involved with others.

In 1910, everyone knew the Black family. They could trace their origins back to England, and they claimed to have come over to the United States back before they were anything more than a demonstration of British imperialism. They’d settled in Boston when it was still a colony, and now they could be found everywhere. Some had stayed in Massachusetts, some had travelled to Chicago, others to New York. Some had braved the West and headed to California; some went to London and Paris to study and write and smoke too many cigarettes and kiss too many girls. They were legends, and they lived their lives with decadence and luxury.

 

The Lupin family, however, did not. “I think my grandmother was Polish,” John told his son once, the one time Remus had asked about their family origins. It wasn’t that exciting of a story, and Remus didn’t ask again. The Lupin name was a muddled one, with uncertain histories and no money to speak of. There were no legends told about the Lupin family, no secrets whispered about in the back rooms of bars, no headlines about business deals or potential romantic entanglements. They saved their money carefully and Remus dreamed of going to college.

 

\- - -

 

In 1918, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin did not live especially different lives. They both fought in the Great War, and there was never much difference between one trench and another, then. The legend and wealth of the Black family were not enough to keep their children from going off to war, and the Lupin family didn’t stand a chance in hell at protecting their only son.

 

Sara Lupin wept when she kissed her son goodbye. She knew too many women who had lost their only children to hold on to too much hope that she would see him again. Walburga Black did not weep when she said her farewells, nor she did weep when she received a letter that informed the Black family of the death of Regulus—or, at least, not when anyone could see her.

 

\- - -

 

First Lieutenant James Potter was blown to bits, and Sirius Black scrambled through the rubble and he looked for him and he wept for him and he wrote a letter to James’ girl back home to tell her what had happened, and that he had known James, and so he was sorry. He told her he’d look her up if he ever was in Illinois.

 

First Lieutenant Peter Pettigrew died the same way, and Remus Lupin wanted to look for him but he had some sense of self preservation and so he decided not to. He, like Sirius, wrote a letter to his fallen friend’sgirl back home, but he didn’t say he’d look her up because he knew he probably wouldn’t.

 

\- - -

 

Lupin got his leg amputated and was shipped back home in the winter of 1918. Black lived to celebrate a victory in Europe, and was home by the next spring. Both had seen and caused unspeakable suffering, and both had survived, and both rather wished they didn’t. Neither missed the trenches, missed the unbearable cold and the constant fear and the sickness and the pain and the horrors of this war no one understood.

 

Sirius Black was never one to turn down a fight, but he didn’t really know what he was fighting for. He was fighting because he had to, he was fighting because it was the _thing to do_ , the thing everyone had to do—but he couldn’t tell you _why._ He was only a child; all of them were only children, and because the wrong person had been assassinated, a war started and didn’t know where to stop, and a million hearts were broken beyond repair.

 

Remus Lupin, on the other hand, knew damn well when to turn down a fight, when to set own ones’ arms and walk away, and do what was necessary to avoid the devastation. He too, though, was fighting because he had to. He did not have a choice, because it was what had to be done, and he was always excellent at doing what _must be done_. Unfortunately, in this case, there was nothing worse than that necessity, and he hated himself for following his orders and hated the world for giving them.

 

\- - -

 

By 1920, their lives were vastly different once more. Sirius, as the sole heir to the fortune of the Black family, lived a life of drinking to excess and courting a young woman for whom he didn’t feel much of anything at all. She, like so many other mistakes he had made, was what was expected of him, and so he kissed her and shared his cigarettes with her and pretended that marrying her one day was all he wanted to do in the world. Parties were thrown, and he smoked and danced and drank, because that was what he had to do.

 

Remus, on the other hand, worked in a small bookshop, and wrote, wrote to excess, wrote with the same reckless abandon with which Sirius lived, and he was lonely a lot of the time, and very quiet, and he leaned out of the window of his apartment in the city and smoked, smoked, and he never answered his mothers letters. Disillusioned and lonely and desperate for a better world than this insignificant and entirely material one he lived in, he wrote stories of strangers who fell in love, and hurt each other, and forgave each other, and still had to say goodbye. There was a girl who came to his shop every day, and she had very blue eyes and she smiled so sweetly, and he knew better than to smile at her in return because he was not the kind of man who could love her, and she was the kind of girl who deserved to be loved.

 

\- - -

 

In 1923, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black turned 25. Black threw an extravagant party for his, celebrated with girls and liquor and music. Lupin sat in his apartment with a book he couldn’t focus on, and neither was happy.

 

\- - -

 

In 1924, Sirius Black needed to buy a book. His library was packed with words he’d already read and he wanted more, because he wanted anything that felt like it would give him a semblance of meaning. He didn’t have much of that, lately. He had fought with his mother again that afternoon, because Marlene was beneath him and why wasn’t he willing to take out Bella, she was such a lovely girl, and besides, Marlene had begun talking to Frank and that’s rather suspicious, didn’t he think, and really, Alice was _not_ of high enough caliber for him to be so close to her, and that _Evans_ girl was truly repulsive, why would he even continue to associate himself with her?

 

Sirius was well-known and well-read and well-liked and thoroughly charming. Parties at Black’s house were always spoken of with reverence and fondness; Black himself was surrounded by mystery. The Black family was old money, but Sirius was notorious for not getting along with his mother and father, and his money had to come from _somewhere_. Whispers flew about him, and he with his suits and his cheekbones and his smiles never gave additional information.

 

Remus, on the other hand, had begun seeing a girl named Dorcie, and he liked her as much as he could, he supposed, and sometimes she spoke too loudly and shrilly and he thought she rather tried too hard and thought herself above him, but he was very tired of being lonely and every now and then her eyes would light up and her voice would be made of music and he could forgive her anything when she smiled. He only wished she smiled more.

 

She didn’t like his fake leg, and he knew very well that she and her girlfriends giggled about him, and about how he was so quiet and so focused on books, and every now and then Remus wanted to tell them that he was better than that, better than their quiet condescending whispers, but instead he pretended not to hear. He was tired of being lonely, and he supposed this was better than nothing.

 

Remus had scars, had a prosthetic leg beneath his trousers, had nightmares that he simply could not shake. Sirius smiled handsomely at strangers in short dresses and made fascinating small talk, and yet when he closed his eyes he thought of the best friend he’d ever known, a boy he’d met when he was a child, and how his life was ended before he had a chance to show everyone he was as wonderful as he was. Both of them were lonely even when they won’t alone, and Sirius missed something he knew he’d never had, and Remus missed something he knew he never would. Neither gave any credence to fate, and both remembered the war every step they took.

 

But Remus Lupin worked at a book shop, and Sirius Black needed to buy a book.

 

\---

 

Remus was sitting behind the counter with his feet up and his nose in a book when the door opened and a bell rang. He glanced up for the briefest of moments but made no effort to get up, just nodded in a slight greeting then returned to the chapters he’d been so engrossed in. “If you need any help, just come ask,” he told the man, eyes down on the book.

 

There wasn’t any response, but Remus hadn’t expected one. The shop was empty today; it was snowing heavily outside and there weren’t many people quite willing to brave the cold and the wind for a book. This man, was, and he glanced up in interest when it occurred to him that this stranger _was_ willing to leave the presumable comfort and warmth of his home for a small, quiet bookstore in the snow. He tried not to look too obvious, but he honestly couldn’t help it—this man was just this side of beautiful, and Remus stared for just a moment too long before ducking his head back down and pretending to read.

 

Very well dressed—he had to be wealthy, because poor men did not own suits like that, that fit so nicely and were so clean. He was put together from head to toe: a dark hat placed upon ink black hair cut in just the right fashion, a buttoned vest under an open suit jacket and a wool coat on top of it, narrow trousers, shiny black shoes despite the snow. Even his face, with striking cheekbones, an angled jaw, and these eyes that Remus would swear had seen everything, boasted of a man who lived in luxury.

 

Remus hated him a little bit on sight, and hated himself for the envy and distrust that was curling in his stomach. He had always tried very hard not to loathe the elite, but he really couldn’t help it—they threw their parties and they danced with each other and they pretended that their money was enough to make them feel, and Remus could not abide this idea that materials were enough to make one happy, but, then again, he was unhappy and had nothing, and he hated the idea that there was any credence to buying joy.

 

This man could buy joy, and Remus glanced at him again and this time their eyes met, and Remus thought maybe he could sell it, too, because those gray eyes were piercing and beautiful and yet there was no emotion in them, and, again, his stomach twisted, because he had not expected today to be one where he felt much of anything at all. Neither of them had spoken yet, but he supposed they might not have to, because neither of them were looking away.

 

“Do you carry _A Gentleman of Courage_?” the man asked, and his voice was music and Remus just looked at him for a moment, brain whirling. James Oliver Curwood. Set in the 1890s, French-Canadian wilderness story, father and son, an overwhelming theme of love. Remus had not minded it, but he hadn’t been especially impressed. It didn’t always keep his interest, but it had been selling extraordinarily well, and so of course they had it stocked.

 

“Yes,” he told him, rising from his chair. He felt gangly and awkward under the sharp gaze of this man, who wasn’t especially cold or harsh, but merely there, with a slight smile on his pink lips, and Remus ducked his eyes away from him, averting his gaze, while the other man just kept looking with an unfamiliar intensity in those eyes.

 

Remus dragged his fingertips over the spines of the books he passed without thinking about it; he always did it when passing bookshelves, and his fingers danced across titles until he got to C for Curwood and pulled out a copy for him. “Do you need anything else, sir?” he asked politely, and the man took the book from him with pale, elegant fingers (he’d never worked a day in his life, Remus suspected, because even this was not especially manual labor, but his hands were not nearly as lovely as this stranger’s).

 

He glanced around the room for a moment, taking in the rows of shelves and the tattered walls, and Remus flushed red with anger and humiliation and a sense of pride for this shop, because it was a little raggedy but they had heating and electricity, of course, and Remus loved the hardwood floors and the mismatched woods of the shelves because there were books, books everywhere, new and used and loved and hated and Remus did not care for those judgmental eyes.

 

“Would you like some tea?” he asked instead, and Remus’ eyes went big. “There’s a café a few blocks down, I could… I could bring you something.” The offer surprised him, honestly, because the voice was melodious, yes, but it was also honest and kind and much, more sweeter than Remus was expecting from a man who looked like that.

 

“I—why?” Remus asked him, completely thrown for a loop. “Why are you offering?” A natural suspicion had been fairly engrained in him at this point, and there was a man he’d never met before with an honest smile but emotionless eyes, and he wasn’t even sure what to do with this. He wasn’t sure how he would even bring him anything; Remus wasn’t leaving, but the man didn’t seem to have any doubts about his plan. He waited for an answer for a long moment, refusing to break eye contact and look away first.

 

“It’s cold in here,” the man answered after a long pause, and Remus cleared his throat, and nodded. The man smiled, tipped his hat, set down the book, and disappeared out the door. Remus watched him go, and did not expect to see him again. He just sat back behind the counter with his book again and settled back in, and was surprised to see the door open and a tall man with a handsome smile and a mug in each hand.

 

\---

 

Sirius Black went back to the bookstore every day for a month. He still spent his evenings courting Marlene, and he still spent his days at work and he still tried not to fight with his mother every single time they spoke, and he still lived a life that felt empty but then there was _him._ There was a man in a bookstore who didn’t smile very much but when he did it was beautiful, and Sirius could not keep himself away from him. Every single day, he wanted to make him smile, and as the days went by, he managed it more and more and eventually it seemed like it couldn’t turn off at all.

 

He introduced himself that very first day, and they both were quiet for a moment before the man, Remus Lupin, offered his own name, and that first day, they only talked about books. The second day, they talked about music. The third, they talked about work. The fourth, they talked about any number of things, and it just kept happening—Remus looked up with interest every time the door opened, and Sirius would smile broadly whenever he walked in. Remus would duck away from him to take other customers and come back as soon as he could, and they talked and talked and talked.

 

They never touched, at first, and they never saw each other outside of the shop Remus worked in, and Sirius bought a book every day for some plausible excuse as to why he took up all of Remus’ time, and eventually Remus told him with a shy smile that he didn’t have to come in and pretend to read to spend time with him, and Sirius smiled sheepishly and said that maybe he didn’t. Sirius wanted to kiss him. He wasn’t supposed to want to kiss him, because that was not something that men _did_ , that was not something they wanted, but every time he saw him, he wanted him more and more and he knew it was a bad idea but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

 

Remus was seeing a girl named Dorcie, and Sirius was still all tangled up with Marlene. Sirius had no claim to him at all, and yet he wanted to, he wanted to claim him in every way imaginable and sometimes he saw Remus looking back and he thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he did. More nights than not, he’d fall asleep with Marlene in his arms, with her pale skin so pretty against his dark sheets, and he’d pretend that he wasn’t wishing that he had someone else in his arms. She was soft and curvy and beautiful, yes, but Remus had angles and stubble and scars and Sirius wanted to memorize every inch of his body.

 

He was half out of his mind with wanting; he spent his time without him daydreaming about when he would see him again, because Remus was brilliant and always had something new to say, and Sirius could listen to him talk for hours, and he moved his hands around with such passion when he spoke, and there was always beauty in his words, and Sirius was craving him all the time they weren’t together. He thought of him when he woke and ate and slept and he wanted to do new things with him, always, and he was losing his mind over him, just a little bit.

 

Remus told Sirius about the war. They talked it about together, talked about the blood and the death and the smell. They talked about the fear and the pain and the nightmares. Remus told him about his leg, about screaming and screaming and screaming and fearing that no one would help him and he would never see his mother again. Sirius told him about arriving home and finding out his brother had not, and he told him how scared he had been when he was shipped off, and they both just sat there for a moment, because they were not supposed to be scared. They had been told their whole lives that war was glorious and they should not be afraid, and then they’d seen things they wish they could forget.

 

“My best friend died,” Sirius told him once, his voice quiet and pained. “My best friend in the world died and I saw it happen and I couldn’t do anything about it. I—I tried to go after him, and nearly got myself killed, too. Can’t say I even would have minded, then.” Remus didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything at first, and just reached for him and rested his hand on top of his. “And now?” he’d asked quietly, looking at him with those soft hazel eyes that Sirius had fallen in love with somewhere along the way.

 

“Now, I think I’d mind,” he said gently, and they’d both smiled, and decided not to be afraid of this anymore. Neither of them had been able to deny what had been building up between them; Remus had been trying not to smile too obviously and Sirius had been trying to be subtle when he held his hand too long when they shook hands hello and Sirius took home new books when Remus suggested them and he devoured them to talk about them with Remus as soon as he could. When they were together, they forgot about the people they were supposed to love, and did not remember anyone but each other.

 

It was springtime the first time they kissed. Business was picking up again along with the weather, and yet Sirius managed to slip in and steal Remus away more days than not. They’d spent months this way, talking and laughing and sharing sandwiches and Sirius was trying very, very hard to pretend that he wasn’t falling in love. He wasn’t _supposed_ to fall in love with Remus, he was supposed to be in love with Marlene, because that’s what he’d been telling her, and he was fairly certain Remus had been telling the same thing to his girl, and yet Remus smiled at him like no one else in the world existed.

 

The shop had been empty that afternoon, but the sun was shining so bright outside and the trees in the parks were growing their leaves again, bright and green and beautiful, and the blue sky and the clear air made anything seem possible. Remus had just been talking like he always was, filling his words with fervor and beauty the way he always did, and Sirius was just looking at him with big open eyes (not emotionless at all, Remus had long since decided, but full of life and love) and he had decided he just couldn’t help it anymore, and he leaned in.

 

It was chaste, at first, a light touch of lips on lips, and Remus’ eyes opened wide and he sat back, just a little. “Sirius,” he’d breathed, and he had been entirely unable to read his expression, and Sirius pulled back and started apologizing immediately. “ _Sirius_ ,” Remus had repeated, his voice full of wonder and joy and then he’d reached out for him and curled his fingers into his hair and pulled him back in, kissing him deeply and desperately, filling it with every ounce of tension they had been building up and letting it all go.

 

They had wanted each other so much for so long, and soon they both decided that nothing was better than this, than the stolen kisses they fell into so easily. Months passed that way, through spring and summer, and they stopped only seeing each other at bookstores and started taking walks and standing a respectable distance apart but smiling like they had a secret, and they would settle into Remus’ flat and sit on the couch and drink tea and kiss, kiss always, curl their hands into each others hair and hold on like they would never let go. They fell asleep wrapped up in each others’ arms and yet they still had to kiss goodbye more than they’d like, because they had lives outside each other, and the only places they could overlap were when they were in bed together, legs all tangled and fingers intertwining.

 

They only belonged to each other when they were alone, but still, Sirius whispered promises into his skin and pretended that Remus couldn’t hear. “I love you,” he told him quietly, “I don’t want to go.” And yet he always had to, always had to get dressed again, slowly and unhappily, and they would kiss goodbye with lingering touches, because neither of them were ready to let go. Once, Remus asked him to stay, and Sirius wanted so badly to say yes that it ached. But Sirius belonged to Marlene and Remus belonged to Dorcie and they did not, did not belong to each other no matter how badly they wanted to, and they fell asleep with women they did not love in their arms and they dreamed of the men they did.


End file.
